


dig it out from me with fishhooks

by oogenesis



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Denial, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 16:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10994637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oogenesis/pseuds/oogenesis
Summary: Lelouch meets a happy, healthy, well-adjusted gay man, and proceeds to lose his shit.





	dig it out from me with fishhooks

**Author's Note:**

> I WROTE THIS REALLY FAST BC I WANTED TO GET IT DONE IN TIME FOR amelia birthday. SORRY IF THE PROSE IS SLOPPY.
> 
> the only code geass fic i ever write these days is about internalized homophobia someone save me
> 
> emetophobia warning. because of the alcohol
> 
> currently undergoing some edits while i remove my earlier insensitive handling of racial issues so some transitions may be choppy for a while until i smooth them over

Zero is walking through the hangar where the Knightmares are kept. He is on his way to visit Rakshata, for updates on the newest project; a complicated technical affair full of headaches and jargon he doesn't understand but must at least make an effort to.

There's a stumbling and a commotion across his path; one of the Black Knights is chasing after a scrap of paper, blown by the fans that are nestled in the top of the hangar. “Hey - hang on -! Got it!” He catches hold of the paper - the flash of color on one side indicates a photograph - straightens up, and sees Zero. “Oh! Sorry, didn't see you there. I'll get out of your way -“

Zero nods. The man heads back to the row of Knightmares and hands the slip of paper to a mechanic working on the leg of a Knightmare, the piston that bends the knee exposed. “Here you go.”

“Oh, thanks.” The mechanic takes the photograph with relief, pulls his wallet out of his pocket, and slips it back in. “I’d hate to have lost it.”

“Picture of your boyfriend?” says the other man, leaning against the Knightmare's other leg, and Zero stops walking.

“Yeah,” says the mechanic. “Not so loud, though.” He says it lightly.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.”

Lelouch's breathing is coming with difficulty, echoing within the mask. Within his ears. The back of his neck is cold.

“Anyway, how's that piston going?”

“Not so great. I'm going to need to to grab one of the heavy-duty bolts from Nakajima. Say, you haven't seen -”

That's enough. That's enough standing there. It'll start to look strange. Zero proceeds to the meeting with Rakshata and has a productive fifteen minutes discussing the technicalities of the project, where they should get materials, how it will interfere with their plans. Afterward he doesn't remember any of it.

 

.

Really, it was only statistically probable. The Black Knights' numbers grow and grow every day, and through sheer demographic percentages there are doubtless many who - who - anyway, it only makes logical sense. But to be confronted with it, concretely, in front of his own eyes, is quite another matter. It was unexpected, to say the least.

The man's name is Amano Daichi. Lelouch finds this out and immediately proceeds to keep a careful eye on him. He seems normal, well-adjusted; has many friends among the Black Knights; a good Knightmare pilot with enough engineering skill to double as a mechanic. He's - he's happy. 

And he likes to go to a local bar on Fridays to have a drink and unwind. Usually he goes alone.

One Friday three weeks later Lelouch walks into the bar. Amano is there, sitting on a stool and nonchalantly sipping something honey-colored. Lelouch slips into a seat near him - not so close as to seem intentional, but enough to oh-so-casually strike up a conversation.

The bartender glances at him with suspicion. “You legal, kid?” 

Living the life that he does, Lelouch has of course a variety of identification papers for various fabricated personas. Llewellyn Anders is nineteen years old and looks young for his age; Lelouch slides the driver's license across the bar. The bartender takes it and seems satisfied. “What'll you have, then?” 

“Pinot Noir.” 

“So... wine.”

“Yes. Wine.”

God, he hates feeling out of his depth.

(He knows it’s about to get a lot worse.)

“Ten eighty-one,” says the bartender, sliding the glass in front of him, and this is where it begins. Lelouch takes a breath, slips into the role, takes out his wallet and frowns inside.

“Excuse me,” he says apologetically, a little too quietly, and Amano does not turn around. Louder he repeats, “Excuse me? Sir?”

Amano looks up. For some reason, Lelouch notices that his eyes are startlingly dark. He swallows. 

“I’m really sorry to bother you, but - could you spare just two pounds? I’m afraid I’m a little short.”

Amano gives him a once-over - a Britannian in a largely Eleven bar, asking politely to borrow money from an Eleven, is obviously something that must be evaluated. Evidently, however, he decides that Lelouch poses no threat; a moment later he relaxes. “Sure thing,” he says, pulls out his wallet, and takes out the crumpled banknotes. Two pounds. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” says Lelouch, and takes them, and looking down at Amano’s wallet as he stows it away, catches a quick glimpse - a photograph, two men with their arms around each other’s shoulders, one of them Amano himself.

He feels a little unsteady. Breath in, breath out, here goes.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Lelouch asks casually, and Amano's eyes flicker up to his face in surprise.

"Yes, he is.” He hesitates and adds, "Not many people realize that right off the bat, you know. They assume we're friends, or brothers."

Lelouch shrugs. "Something in the body language tipped me off. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked such a personal question."

"It's fine," says Amano, and takes another gulp of his drink. "You don't seem to be the type to judge."

“I would hope not. I’m for equality, and all that.” His tone is conversational, but in the clean split between facade and self he’s learned to master, he feels cold. Of course the rebuilt world Zero is going to create, the one free of hate and discrimination, will have - will have marriage and such, but that’s meant to be for other people. People in the abstract, in the hypothetical. Not something as concrete as a man sitting at the bar next to him, and certainly not -

“For equality,” repeats Amano, with a slight air of amusement. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. Better than some, at least.”

Lelouch tsks sympathetically. “I imagine it’s not easy, what with general intolerance.” It’s not supposed to be easy. It’s not supposed to -

Amano shrugs. “You could say that,” he says, somewhat ruefully. “You could definitely say that. I got fired from one of my older jobs - the manager saw us holding hands and I was terminated on grounds of sexually perverse behavior -” he snorts “- and there’s the comments we get on the street. Yeah, a fair bit of intolerance there. But when you learn to bear it..." He sips his drink contemplatively. "It's not so bad."

"It's not so bad" is the last thing in the world Lelouch wants to hear, because if it's not so bad, then there is precious little to stop him from - "Really," he says, an appreciative smile on his lips, “That’s good. One hears all sorts of nasty things, you know -"

Amano gives a little shake of his head. "Believe me, I've heard them too, in as many different wordings as you can imagine. But you have to learn to bear it... tell yourself it doesn't matter when it's words, learn to avoid it coming to blows. Course, we can't get married or get kids, but..." There's a softness to his face now. "We have each other, and friends who support us as well. I love him, and he loves me, and, well, we've managed to end up pretty happy together."

Happy. _Happy_. With horror, Lelouch notices that his hands are shaking. They've never shaken like this; being experienced in lying and facades means he's always been able to keep his emotions from showing externally if need be. Even in his greatest moments of panic or anger, it’s never been like this - but this is different. Now there is a great crack being split down the middle of him, into his very core, and he is deathly afraid of what might come spilling out. "That's nice," he hears himself say amiably, and hides his shaking hands under the bar. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Yeah." Amano's eyes wander to a football match on a screen by the ceiling. Areas 9 vs 24, with 24 taking the lead. "When all's said and done, I wouldn't change that part of myself for all the world.”

Lelouch's breathing is coming too tight, too harsh, his stomach sick; his world is tilting around him and making him sick with the dizziness of it. He clenches a fist under the bar and goes through the list in his head, a list so familiar to him that the reasons flick past like the well-worn pages of an animation booklet: _not right not good not healthy not allowed not natural not plausible too at odds too opposed separate paths my enemy now wants me dead_ -

It's no good. The pages are peeling and tearing away, Lelouch's enforced-reinforced defenses against his most unwanted of thoughts being unbuilt by Amano's casual testimony. There is the feeling looming mountainlike over him that he is going to need to confront some very important things very very soon, with increasing urgency. Rather than do that he opts to take a too-large gulp of the absolutely mediocre wine and fervently wishes it were something stronger - thinks of metal ring vial needle quick - but no, that would be counterproductive, too much of a reminder.

_I wouldn’t change that part of myself for all the world._

It’s possible to feel that way? It’s possible to -

“Could you?” he asks, as nonchalantly as possible, aware of what an insensitive question this is, the dangerous implications - _but there are implications at play that are dangerous for himself as well, for his own peace of mind_ \- “Change yourself, that is. Is it possible to -”

Amano snorts at that. “Oh, believe me, I tried. I think there’s not a single one of us out there that didn’t try. But what does it get you? You hate yourself, you curse yourself, you wish things were different, but they aren’t -”

_No, no, no no no no -_

“- and in the end, you can’t change who you are, so you come to terms with it. And then you’re happier for it. You can deny it forever and live with that kind of pain; or you can accept it, let it be a part of yourself, and find some peace.” 

_You_ in this case meaning a hypothetical third person, but it feels like arrow-tips piercing him and Lelouch desperately wishes he’d use any other pronoun. _You can deny it, or you can accept it._ Something is bubbling up in him, like vomit except he hasn’t drunk enough for it to be that; his thoughts are a mounting blur, and there is a pain in his chest like something bending so far it will soon snap. Amani brings the cup to his lips, thoughtfully.

“Course, there have to be some people out there that deny it forever.” He shrugs, tosses the rest of the cup back, puts it down on the counter and signals to the bartender for more. “I don’t envy them one bit, poor bastards. Going through life like that, hating yourself until your dying days… maybe marrying a woman, god, imagine that, imagine forcing yourself to live a charade like that -”

A fragment of noise - a sob, a whimper, a cry - escapes from Lelouch’s throat.

“What -” says Amano, and then looks at him hard, and Lelouch gains awareness of his own body. Realizes he is curled over his drink, shaking all over, his breathing coming labored -

“Are you all right? Should I get a doctor?” Amano asks, and Lelouch straightens up, takes a deep breath, wills his body to calm down with all the force of Geass itself, and says, “No, sorry, I’m fine.”

But it’s too late, because Amano is looking at him with concern, and - horror of horrors - dawning understanding.

No. No!

“Hey,” he says gently, his tone and attitude completely changed, and this is a fresh new hell Lelouch has entered. “Hey. Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have been so flippant about the denial thing -”

He reaches out a hand to put on Lelouch’s shoulder. Lelouch flinches violently away, trembling, the urge to scream _Don’t touch me!_ just barely repressed; Amano pulls his hand back. “Sorry, sorry. But… hey, listen, kid, it’ll be okay, you understand? I know it’s hard right now - believe me, I know, I went through the exact same thing, like I said it’s really common -”

There is a ringing in Lelouch’s ears.

“- but someday, I promise, it won’t seem so bad. You’ll be able to come to terms with it, you’ll be happy -”

Come to terms with it. The entirety of Lelouch's being rejects that idea with frantic, desperate revulsion. Coming to terms with anything is the last thing he wants to do - what he wants, more than anything else, more than eventual happiness, is to be _normal_.

"- I know you probably don't think it's possible, but -"

Amano is still talking, leaning in with concerned compassion. Lelouch's entire body is grating against it; he opts for once to tell the truth. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather not discuss this.”

Amano retreats a little. "You sure? I can put you in touch with other people who could help -"

“ _Please_.”

"All right," says Amano, and picks up his refilled glass again, looking troubled. He keeps shooting little glances at Lelouch out of the corner of his eye.

The shaking keeps happening. Lelouch wishes it would stop. He wishes his thoughts would stop, he wishes the noise in the bar would stop, he wishes everything would stop. The whirling terror in his head is reaching fever pitch, chasing itself around and around in a frenzied circle - he grabs the glass of mediocre wine, brings it to his lips, and tips it down his throat. Gulp after gulp until the glass is empty and his throat burns.

When he puts it back down on the bar his head is spinning a little; maybe from the alcohol, maybe from not breathing through the drinking, maybe from everything else. A surge of despairing recklessness overcomes him, and he says, too loudly, “Tell me about him.”

Amano starts a little. “What?”

He makes himself say it; pushes it out of his mouth like vomit. “Your boyfriend. The man you’re in love with.” He hadn’t known he was this much of a lightweight; or maybe it’s just the utter misery of everything getting to him. The world slides past as the words slide out of his mouth. “Tell me about him.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? I -”

“I’m _fine_.”

Amano gives him another look of skeptical concern, then turns back to the bar, thoughtfully tapping the rim of the glass against his lips. “He’s… quiet. Doesn’t talk much. Prefers to work with his hands, we’ve got that much in common… Sometimes he helps me out with an engine and we can go the entire afternoon just working together on it, barely needing to talk, we just understand each other like that.” A smile is creeping onto his face, seemingly unconsciously. “We’re saving up for a house together someday, out in the countryside - fewer people to worry about, less discrimination and all that. Maybe grow vegetables…”

It sounds - lovely, it sounds like a warm and wonderful thing, to be in love like this, and something in Lelouch gives a long slow cry. Everything is becoming so fragile, and to break…

“That sounds nice,” he murmurs. “I’m happy for you two, I hope you get there someday.”

Amano shoots him a quick look - calculating, as though testing for sarcasm or bitterness. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s doubtful we’ll ever get there, though; that costs a lot, so there’s a lot of hard work ahead. But we’re happy enough as is, at least.”

“Yeah,” says Lelouch thickly, and then attempts to imitate Amano’s earlier gesture to call for a refilled glass.

He manages it, he thinks. Amano takes out his wallet. “Here -”

Right. The pretext; Lelouch nearly forgot. “Thanks.”

His glass is refilled; Amano reaches over and pays for it.

 _I’m in love with a boy._ It trembles on the tip of his tongue. It would be so easy to say, in the dreamlike hush of everything falling apart, except it’s not true. (He thinks this mechanically, going through the motions of it.) _I’m in love with a boy and his hair is thistledown-soft and his eyes are bright and gentle and he can carry my sister on his back for miles and he hates injustice and loves all that is good and right and he wants me dead. I’m in love with a -_

Amano finishes the rest of his glass in a neat swoop, checks his watch, and casts a look at Lelouch. “Listen, I have to go now, told some friends I’d meet up with them, but…” He hesitates. “When I said I know some people who you could talk to about it - I could give you their -”

Lelouch’s blood has already turned cold at the topic. “No. Thank you.”

“Are you sure? Do you want my n -”

“No.”

“All right,” says Amano doubtfully, and slips off the bar chair. “Hey - feel better, all right?”

“All right.” Can he hurry up and _leave_?

“And - I hope everything works out for you. Good luck, okay?”

“Okay.”

Amano and his wallet and the picture of him and his boyfriend leave the bar. Lelouch is alone.

God.

He should never have come here.

The wineglass sits in front of him, glistening in the dim light. He snatches it up, downs it - too fast, chokes a little, coughs against it - puts it back down too hard on the bar and says hoarsely, “Another.”

He can pay for it himself this time, now that Amano is gone, doesn’t have to pretend he didn’t bring enough money. The next glass goes down slimy like oil and the world is starting to spin around him in earnest, sliding slippery by around him.

Another. He’s not going to think about any of this until he’s drunk enough that whatever fateful conclusions he comes to - whatever inevitable conclusions he is grimly hurtling towards - he won’t remember it in the morning. The world becomes dreamlike around him - another - the wine going down with more and more difficulty - another - he’s losing count…

The bartender is looking concernedly at him now. Is he drunk enough yet? His stomach is lurching and everything is unfocused. Another glass maybe -

He gets halfway through it before he can’t, he just can’t, he was never meant to drink this much. That should be enough. That should be good. When he tries to get off the stool he has to clutch the bar to stand up straight.

“I’m leaving now,” he hears himself say.

Oh, right. Payment. He leaves a wad of bills on the counter and leaves the bar.

Everything outside is too dark or too light. He lurches along for a little, turns into an alleyway because there are too many headlights hurting his eyes. It’s nighttime and there are cars going by and he can’t walk properly, a blur of headlights sweeping by and he doesn’t remember the way home anymore and he’s not straight, oh god he’s not straight at all he doesn’t like girls he’ll never like girls he likes boys, loves one boy in particular, he’s not straight he never will be and - 

Lelouch leans over and vomits against the bare brick wall.

Well, that was -

And again.

Well, that was inevitable. He should have expected it the instant he resolved to get as drunk as possible. Maybe he did and he can’t remember. Everything is a terrible terrible panic and he’s not straight and this is the worst thing in the world that could ever possibly happen. He moves over a little away from the mess he’s made and then slides down the wall, curled up on the cold asphalt, and sobs in horrible wracking spasms.

He likes boys. Oh god, he thinks in despair, oh god, I like boys, I’m in love with a boy and I’ll never be anything else. There are tears slicked down his face, his nose running. He feels like the most wretched figure ever, huddled far too drunk in an alleyway while the cars go by too fast and loud, sobbing and shaking like a pathetic mess. A pathetic mess that likes boys, which is even worse, and which is to be expected, because only twisted wretched people are -

and Suzaku _isn’t_ , which is something he’s repeated to himself so much, Suzaku is hope and strength and kindness and Suzaku is good and so he could never and so it is futile futile futile -

but Amano. Amano was happy. Amano was happy and in love with his goddamn fucking boyfriend and Lelouch’s head hurts to think about it, because that means it’s possible for him but it _can’t_ be, it can’t be, it’s denied to him, it has to be, it can’t be otherwise, his head hurts so so much.

“Oh god,” he says out loud, “oh god.”

He hates Amano for making him feel this way. He wonders if he could send Amano off on a mission that would be sure to get him killed, he could do it, there would be nothing to stop him from doing it, part of him knows that it would be the most cruel and selfish thing to do but _god_ does he hate Amano so deeply in this moment. How dare he. How _dare_ he. Lelouch is left dangling in this terrifying void of possibility, of harsh reality, the warm desperate comfort of denial all fallen away, because of fucking Amano.

 _I’m in love with a boy and someday, maybe, we could_ -

He rolls onto his side and vomits again. It’s less this time. Hopefully that’s the last of it.

_God._

He should… He should get up and try to go home. He should do that. Even though everything is horrible and nothing will ever be the same again because he’s not straight, oh god, oh god, he…

He gets up, slowly - gets his feet under him, at least, rises on shaky wobbling legs - one clammy hand braced on the wall for support - There. He’s upright.

Which way is home? Which way is… he likes boys, god, which way is home, which…

He takes a step - he can’t tell which direction anymore - and promptly passes out.

.

Lelouch stirs.

CC’s voice says, “Don’t open your eyes.”

Like a hungover idiot, he opens them, and a bright sheet of pain drives itself through his skull, slicing his eyes in half. Or so it feels. “Fuck!”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the swearing type.” There’s a rustle - the curtains are drawn - the room dims and the pain abates a little. Oh god, he feels like shit in every way possible. “Then again, I wouldn’t have imagined having to…”

Her voice fades out. Lelouch bolts up, falls out of bed, lurches to the bathroom, and heaves into the toilet.

His face is too hot. He rests his forehead on the coolness of the porcelain and - does he remember anything from last night? - immediately wills himself not to go there.

CC joins him. “All right, what’s the matter?”

“I’m hungover,” he croaks, and spits some of the horrible taste out into the toilet. “Obviously.”

CC pulls him upright, pushes the flush handle. “Don’t be dense. I meant, why did you get yourself into this state in the first place?”

He’s not going to answer that.

“Is there any particular reason,” CC continues, “that I had to carry you home from an alleyway where you’d passed out dangerously drunk? I don’t think it’s exactly a reach to say you’re not really the type to do that.”

God, his mouth tastes horrible, and his headache won’t let up. He clumsily opens a cabinet and gropes for the mouthwash.

“Lelouch.” Her tone is more serious now. “We have a goal here. If something is wrong enough that you did something this out of character for you, then it could -”

Lelouch spits the mouthwash out into the sink and now that one part of him, at least, feels clearer and better. The rest is still terrible. “I’m going back to bed.”

Silence from CC. Lelouch goes back into the bed and lies down and tries to think through the horrible pounding in his head, _god_ , what does he remember?

Amano, it was because of Amano, and - and everything else. Bad. Very bad. He drank all the wine and then after that…

After that is a blur. There was some great spike of a bad feeling, but - he can’t remember anything else.

Oh, thank god. Thank god. He doesn’t have to confront anything. It was all just a terrible lapse in clear thinking brought on by the alcohol, it never happened, it never happened.

Amano had said - 

He can deal with that later. (Or not at all. He’s good at that.) For now - he’s safe. He’s normal. It’s all good. Even through his terrible hangover, a measure of relief sinks into him - a bitter, stretched-thin kind of relief, but it’ll do for now. The ice will hold.

_(besides Amano’s boyfriend doesn’t want him dead -)_

There's the slap and sudden darkness of a wet towel being tossed over his eyes.

“Hey!”

“Don’t make me babysit you.” The bed sinks as CC sits down next to him. “Are you going to tell me what the problem is?”

The coolness soaks into his terribly sore eyes; it’s a welcome relief. “Not particularly.”

“If you weren’t an invalid right now - through your own stupidity, I might add - I’d smack you.”

“Mmm… thanks.”

His hand is seized and forcefully opened, and two round shapes are shoved in. Thick, chalky - antacid tablets. “I at least wouldn’t have thought you’d be as much of an ass when hungover.”

Lelouch puts one of the tablets in his mouth and crunches on it. It’s strawberry flavored. “I don’t need to tell you.”

“No?” Heavy sarcasm.

“It’s not something that’s going to be a significant issue.”

“It better not be.” A pause, and a sigh, and then, in a softer tone… “Are you sure you’re okay?”

_You’ll come to terms with it one day. You’ll be happy -_

Not on his watch. Not on his fucking watch. He feels exhausted, like trying to keep himself balanced on a tightrope. But he’s doing it. He’s balancing.

You can’t deny it forever, was the gist of what Amano had said. But Lelouch vi Britannia has done many things that no other person could do, and to remain the most important kind of normal in the face of overwhelming odds to the contrary is going to be one of them. Lelouch will see to it.

(There is a sickness inside him at the thought. Someday, you’ll, someday you’ll -)

“I’m fine,” he says, and his headache is easing.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so maybe my middle school self didn't get falling-down drunk over it but the "i don't want to hear about coming to terms with jack shit i just want to be NORMAL" sentiment is very autobiographical. in front of an entire gsa as well. Awkward
> 
> comments greatly appreciated especially since i'm very proud of this etc


End file.
